The Disestablishment of Paradise
by leaysaye
Summary: When an accident causes Daryl to lose his sight a time of struggle begins for everyone. Will Rick be able to help Daryl cope, and can their relationship survive this new ordeal? Rick/Daryl, slash
1. Chapter 1

The blast was foremost a blinding, burning light. Then there was pain, but not much. That would come later, and he almost knew then that it would. But now there was no time to know anything else, like what the fuck had happened. Blinding light, pain, then blackness, nothing.

When he first came round he could hear voices, but indistinct, far away. They were not speaking a language he understood, but he felt too woozy to care. No real thought formed, only that it was still dark. Night time, maybe? Then nothing again.

The next time, he was fully conscious. And scared. He would later remember that first fear. Like a black woolen blanket, clutching him, consuming him. Dark, dark, always dark… He tried to sit up but couldn't manage. Without a visual cue there was no up or down, left or right. His head hurt so much. He struggled for purchase somewhere, anywhere, but his fingers only closed on emptiness.

And then there were hands on him, gentle, soothing. Rick. He didn't need to see him to know.

"Don't move, man."

Daryl groped for the hand on his shoulder holding him down.

"Where are we? Why… why is it dark?"

There was a pause, and it stretched, and stretched.

"There was an accident. An…" Another pause. Why did Rick sound so distressed? "An explosion," he finally managed.

Daryl tried to think back. They had been out scouting, he had been up front. An old factory, abandoned, maybe years ago. They'd been looking for fuel, not holding out much hope.

"There was light, such bright, bright light. So there was fuel, was that what blew up?"

He could feel Rick sit down next to him on the bed. "Daryl, we need to talk. But maybe now is not the time, not yet… Are you in pain, do you want some more meds? Hershel's given you IV morphine, but that was a while ago…"

"Rick…"

Daryl's heart was hammering painfully in his chest. What was going on? A small part of him seemed to have an idea, and was screaming with despair. He groped for Rick's hands again, and the other man gripped his fingers almost painfully hard. Daryl took a deep breath.

"Jus' tell me wha' happened."

Later, this first retelling never meant anything to Daryl. He heard the words, but they didn't penetrate. They got stuck on the outside, like little shards of glass.

Shards that shredded the cornea, tore through the lens and lodged themselves deep in his eyes. That dug into his face, scratched and stabbed. Heat burning, skin blistering.

Rick sat by his side as he recited the damage, breaking off every few words as his voice threatened to falter. Daryl gripped his hands tighter and tighter, trying to hold on to life, to his sanity. Finally, Rick couldn't go on. There was a long silence. Daryl forced himself to ask what Rick had not been able to say.

"'s it permanent?"

He felt Rick slide off the bed onto the floor. His hands came up to Daryl's face and he gently stroked his hair as he brought his own face close. The words were hardly even audible when they came.

"Yes, Daryl. Yes it is."

Daryl couldn't breathe. His throat was closing, his heart sped up in protest at the lack of oxygen. He felt himself go rigid, shaking hard enough to make the bunk rattle against its wall fastenings.

"Daryl, breathe!"

He could hear Rick, but far away. And anyway he had no control over his body, his lungs straining for air, his muscles contorting. He felt his back arch, painfully, his head banging onto the mattress.

Rick was suddenly gone, and Daryl heard him yell.

"Hershel, in here!"

So this was it, Daryl thought. Was this how it ended? No, his oxygen deprived brain corrected. It was already over. He felt strong hands on him, then a sharp prick into his arm, then nothing again.

He woke up to the sensation of warm breath against his neck, arms around him. For a moment he struggled again to remember, but it came all crushing back too quickly. His head was still aching terribly.

It was Rick holding him, of course. He would know this body anywhere. His lover's body, so strong, so gentle. His, ever since that awful day on the farm when they had found Sophia in the barn. Right now, he could tell, the other man was asleep.

Carefully, so as not to disturb Rick, Daryl brought a hand up to his face. His fingers touched bandages covering his eyes, and bruised and blistered skin. Even the light touch hurt, and he gave an involuntary hiss. He took his hand away.

So this was it. This darkness was his life now? He refused to believe it. The bandages would come off and then they'd see. Or would they? But what did Hershel know anyway? He was a vet, hardly an authority on human anatomy.

It wasn't working. Daryl could tell himself that Hershel was wrong all he wanted. Deep down he knew that it was a false hope. His chest felt heavy all of a sudden. Fearing that awful choking feeling to return he tried to relax, exhale slowly. He felt himself start to tremble again.

The trembling woke Rick. Suddenly the arms holding Daryl tightened, and Rick's quiet voice was close to his ear.

"I got you, man. You're safe. Just stay with me..."

Daryl's usual instinct would have been to flinch away from the tight embrace, but he and Rick had become close since the farm and had spent a lot of time similarly wrapped up in each other. Of course, Daryl had been able to see then. Now, feeling tense and raw his instincts were conflicting. The urge to bolt, to get far away was strong. But at the same time there was this new, all-encompassing fear. It made him feel alone and isolated already, and he strongly needed Rick to hold on, to keep him from disappearing into the sea of despair.

Daryl could feel tears prickle under the bandages, and it hurt. He tried to stop himself from crying and it was so impossible and painful he couldn't suppress a groan.

Rick shifted. "What is it? Are you in pain?"

Daryl nodded, not trusting his voice. He tried not to think about what Rick looked like just now, concern in his eyes. The thought of never looking into those blue eyes again made a fresh wave of sadness wash over Daryl, and more tears soaked the bandages, burning on raw wounds.

He groaned again, his hands wandering up to his face with a mind of their own, wanting to rip and tear at the gauze. Rick's hands caught his and held him. His voice was shaking with his own tears now.

"No, don't."

Daryl was shivering with the effort of suppressing the despair. He turned his head and buried his face against Rick's shoulder, sobbing.

"Shhh, don't, Daryl. You're just making it worse..."

Daryl gave a shudder, finding it difficult to take notice of anything outside himself. Rick shifted again, disentangled himself and suddenly Daryl was alone on the bed.

"No..." His hands groped blindly in thin air.

"I'm just getting Hershel, you need painkillers."

It seemed a long time to Daryl, alone in the dark and the burning pain, but then Rick was back. He could also feel another presence.

"Daryl," Hershel's low voice was soothing. "I'll give you some more morphine."

Daryl felt his arm being lifted and next the needle being inserted into his vein. Then Rick was back, strong arms around him again. Daryl curled into the embrace, trying to endure the receding pain until it was bearable. He gave a shaky sigh when it finally faded into the background.

"Better?"

"Yeah." Daryl could feel himself sliding back into sleep, but he fought it, for now. "Rick, how is this going to work? If I can't see…"

He could actually feel Rick's frown. "We will make it work. I," and the arms around Daryl tightened again, "will make sure you're safe. I'll protect you with my life, you know that, man."

Daryl didn't say anything. That wasn't what he was concerned about, and he was sure Rick knew this, deep down. He had no strength left now to explain it now, though. Daryl struggled for a moment to say something more but he could feel his mind slipping into oblivion again and finally gave in.


	2. Chapter 2

The days blurred together. Daryl never asked how long he'd been unconscious, and how long it took him to be well enough to even get out of bed. After the first few hazy days on pain meds during which he'd been asleep more than awake he couldn't find back into a normal sleep and wake cycle.

At first, when Hershel started weaning him off the morphine he couldn't sleep at all and just lay on his bunk for hours, sometimes listening to the voices outside his cell, his group going about their normal business. He felt numb most of the time, but occasionally, and without warning, a rage like he'd never felt in his life descended on him and he wanted to scream and tear into things and people. But he didn't.

He was still too weak to even stand up unaided, and anyway the effort seemed too great. Instead he turned over to the wall and pressed the knuckles of his balled fists into the wall, scraping them up and down until they bled. The first time he'd done that Rick had berated him for what felt like hours when he'd noticed, but Daryl had ignored him. He kept doing it whenever the violent emotions came back to the surface.

Rick was with him as much as he could. He hardly left his side until the round the clock pain meds were no longer needed. He told Daryl that he'd suffered a bad concussion, possibly even a cracked skull when he'd been caught in the blast. They had no way of checking him over properly, so they didn't know for sure.

"It flung you about ten yards, and you hit your head so hard. I thought you were dead for sure." Daryl just wished he were.

Between the concussion and his inability to see Daryl's sense of balance was shot and he couldn't take a single step without staggering and falling over. Rick was there to hold him and support him, but even sitting up on the side of the bed was initially nearly impossible. As soon as he was upright the world would start spinning and Daryl felt like he was falling. It made him nauseous and he'd break out in a cold sweat every time they tried it, so for several days he stayed almost completely horizontal

Rick took over total responsibility for his care. In the first few days some of the others had looked in, but Daryl found it very taxing to tolerate more than one person at a time. It disoriented him to hear them talking so close and not being able to see where everyone was. The echoy acoustic of the prison didn't help.

Once, when Hershel had come to examine him early on, Maggie had come to check something with her dad, and Daryl couldn't bear their talking over by the door. He tried to hide his discomfort. He knew they didn't mean to make him feel bad, but he couldn't stop his breathing from speeding up and his hands from shaking. Suddenly Rick, who had been nearby as usual, had sat down and taken his shaking hands in his.

"What is it?"

Daryl had shaken his head, pulled away from Rick and turned to the wall, but Rick must have guessed and gotten up to usher the others out. They hadn't talked about it again but from then on it was only Rick, and very occasionally Hershel, who came to his cell.

Daryl needed help with everything in those early days. Rick took care of his needs without question or reservation. Daryl was both grateful and ashamed for being helpless. Initially, because he was so weak and afraid, staying in the cell all the time didn't seem so bad. When he finally started feeling better Daryl had an inkling that that would soon change, but for the time being the smallness of the space helped him to sometimes keep the fear at bay.

The times Daryl felt best were when he lay in Rick's arms at night. Then he could almost forget what had happened. He knew it was night when Rick came to lie down with him and went to sleep himself. Rick mostly didn't tell him what time of day it was, or even usually what meal he was bringing Daryl, and Daryl felt stupid for asking so he just accepted it.

They generally didn't talk much. Daryl had learned to be in tune with Rick's emotions before the accident and he didn't actually need to see him for that. He could tell that Rick's sadness was almost as great as his own, and while he understood why that was he didn't like it. He didn't need to feel any more guilty for keeping Rick away from his usual duties and responsibilities, and the other man's emotions only made him more disgusted with himself. But he knew what ungrateful thoughts these were and kept them to himself.

-.-

"The bandages should come off today."

Daryl's heart started hammering at these words. He'd been dreading this moment, and wishing it to come quickly almost as much. He knew hope was foolish, but wasn't it human to cling to every tiny shred of it?

Hershel had changed the bandages a couple of times, impressing upon Daryl not to try and open his eyes because the wounds were still so fresh. The first time had hurt like a bitch and Daryl had had no thought to spare for anything but the pain and had willed himself not to faint by concentrating hard on Rick who'd held him steady on the side of the bed. The second time Hershel had been very quick and Daryl hadn't had time to contemplate disobeying the recommendation.

Now Daryl felt the mattress descending next to him as Rick sat down. He felt a hand on his back, rubbing gentle circles. As usual Rick seemed to know some of what was going through Daryl's mind.

"Shall we do it now?"

Rick's voice was very close to his ear, and Daryl could imagine easily what he looked like just then. Eyes on him like he'd never look away again, concern and love warring with each other. His heart was heavy when he realized that soon he'd no longer be able to conjure up these images.

Daryl nodded. Better over with it than dragging it out. He could feel Hershel step closer, and when he started undoing the knots on the bandage Rick put both his arms around Daryl tightly. He brought his hands up and gripped hard at Rick's arm encircling his chest.

The pressure on his face lessened as the bandage fell away. The skin all around the eyes still felt raw and sore, and for the first time Daryl wondered what he himself would look like from now on. He didn't suppose it mattered very much.

And then Hershel stepped back. Daryl could feel the slightly cool air of his cell against skin that had been covered for a long time. He brought one hand up to his face and placed it first against his cheek, then carefully explored the region that had suffered most damage.

"Whatever you do, don't scratch," came Hershel's voice. "There's still a lot of healing to do, and you'll easily hurt yourself."

Like that mattered. But Daryl didn't say anything. He could feel scabs and scars but it didn't seem as bad as he had expected. His eyes were closed, and for now he decided to leave them that way. They felt like they were stuck shut, anyway.

As if reading his mind Hershel added, "You'll find it hard to open your eyes right now. I suggest we let everything settle for another day or so and then I'll clean away the lymph and blood."

"Doesn't really matter either way, does it?" Daryl's voice was gruffer than he had intended, but he didn't apologize. He turned to Rick. "Can I lie down now?"

Rick got up, and Daryl lay back on the bed and turned around to face the wall. He was close to tears again, but just now he didn't want anyone else to see.

-.-

Time kept ticking, Daryl kept breathing, nothing much changed. The pain mostly disappeared, and when Hershel came back to clean his face the next day Daryl didn't protest. The old man was gentle and took his time, but it was still uncomfortable. The warm water made the skin burn again and tears mixed in with the wound secretions without Daryl being able to stop them.

There was a small moment of almost joy. When he opened his eyes properly for the first time Daryl realized that the constant darkness around him was replaced with a hazy not-quite gray. Hershel must have noticed something because Daryl heard him step closer.

"Can you see anything?"

Daryl hesitated. Was it even worth sharing? But he thought, why not. "It's less dark, somehow…"

"Wait." He could hear the old man turn away and then come closer again. "How's this?"

A slightly lighter gray seemed to appear. "It's a bit lighter again, yeah. But that's it, I can't see what y're holding…"

"Well, it's something, right?" Rick's voice sounded both anxious and hopeful.

Daryl shrugged. He supposed it was, but what use it could ever be he had no idea.

-.-

"Come on, just for a little while. The others are all anxious to see you…"

Rick's voice trailed off. Maybe he thought again that he'd said something bad. Daryl didn't much care. He hated how Rick was walking on egg shells around him, never anything but careful, and anxious not to say things like "see".

Daryl wished he wouldn't do that. He hadn't suddenly gone soft in the head and forgotten that everyone else could still see. He didn't mind words being said. Words were just that, they could have meaning or not, like seeing had no meaning for him now. No, what he minded was Rick pussyfooting around him, and yet at the same time trying to make him do things he just couldn't.

"Not yet Rick, please…"

"Just thirty minutes. You've been in here over a week, you need to get up, move around. Come on, do it for me."

Daryl couldn't argue with that, he just couldn't. Rick had done so much for him, and he couldn't refuse to do something in return. And this shouldn't be so hard, it was just sitting with the group. Hardly two dozen steps out there to the tables. The fear was threatening to overwhelm him, but he swallowed it down. What could happen, after all?

"All right."

"You'll see, it'll be fine."

Rick came to his side and helped him up. Daryl was steadier on his feet now, his head felt much clearer. He'd sat at the table in the cell a few times over the last couple of days and it felt more ok every time. But everything in him was fighting now against the urge to crawl back onto his bed and hide under the covers as they slowly stepped over to the cell entrance and out past the sheet covering it.

Daryl grabbed Rick's hand tightly, focusing on Rick's arm around his waist, not letting the panic overwhelm him. The sounds and smells out here were newly unfamiliar and even though Daryl remembered what it all looked like he couldn't orientate himself now. He thought he could feel people close by, but none of them spoke which made him even more uneasy. Suddenly Rick's arm vanished.

"I am just moving this out of the way…" Rick's voice seemed far away and Daryl stood rooted to the spot, fighting the urge to panic. And suddenly, there was a huge crash. Daryl jumped, trying to locate the source of the noise, spinning on the spot. He felt dizzy, his knees were threatening to give way.

Before he could collapse Rick caught him and held him. Daryl clutched the front of Rick's shirt, whimpering and hating himself for his weakness. He leaned into Rick's chest and Rick's hand came up to stroke his hair.

"Shh, it's ok. That was just a plate that fell off the table. It's all right, no need to panic."

Usually Rick's voice was soothing on Daryl's rattled nerves, but right this moment he only felt anger.

"Take me back, now."

"But you said you'd sit…"

"Take. Me. Back."

The last came out through gritted teeth, and the impossibility of this situation once again hit home like a punch to the gut. All Daryl wanted was to get away from Rick, but he needed him, depended on him. He would never again get away from anyone. The thought made him shake so hard Rick was struggling to keep him upright. At least that seemed to convince the other man that he wasn't ready after all.

They were back in the cell within a minute. Once sure he could find his way Daryl broke free and, supporting himself along the bunk bed, made his way back onto his mattress. He stretched out, still shaking and breathing hard.

"Look, Daryl…"

But Daryl turned away.

"Leave me alone."

He could feel Rick come closer and half turned back. "Just leave me for now, ok?"

He hadn't raised his voice but Rick must have gotten the message and walked out of the cell. Daryl turned back to the wall, feeling more numb than angry. He tried not to think of anything and finally fell asleep.


	3. Chapter 3

"Can I talk to you?"

Rick looked up and saw Carol standing halfway between Daryl's cell and the communal tables. He'd stopped dead right outside Daryl's cell, so wrapped up in his thoughts he hadn't heard her approach. Rick had a feeling he knew what this was about, but he nodded.

"Let's go outside." And when she saw him hesitate, "He'll be fine, Rick. There's plenty of people out here and they all know to keep an eye out." She turned and addressed Maggie. "We'll be just by the door, ok?"

Rick followed Carol outside. The sky was overcast, it looked like it might rain later. Carol leaned against the wall next to the door and looked at him for a long moment. Rick squirmed under the scrutiny but forced himself to return her gaze. When she finally spoke her voice was very soft.

"It's very hard on you, I know. But Rick, we need to plan this better if we want to help him."

Rick looked away, over to the fence. He knew she was right. He had no idea what he was doing. Give him a herd of undead any day over this impossible situation he'd found himself in.

"I know. I just don't know what to do."

"Then let us help."

Rick looked at her. "But neither of you know any better, either."

Carol shook her head. "Maybe not either one on our own. But we all have some experiences, or heard the odd thing, that might be useful. Hershel has his medical knowledge. I know how to look after children and how to teach them about the world. Maggie is really calm thanks to working with animals all her life. Beth is sweet and funny and can cheer anyone up. And you are his anchor, he trusts you and needs you to keep him calm. So let's pool what we have, and see where we're at."

Rick looked at the ground. He felt a lump rising in his chest.

"He is so afraid, it breaks my heart. I would've never thought that fear would be the main problem, but it is, and it's making everything so difficult."

Carol stepped over and put a hand on his arm. "You can't do this alone, Rick. You are too afraid yourself. Fear makes us become blinkered and unable to look outside the box. To make this work we all need to be in on it."

He knew Carol was right, and he knew they had to try it her way. He looked at her.

"What do you suggest?"

-.-

There was a quiet rustling sound by the door, then light footsteps, just a few paces into the room. That couldn't be Rick, Daryl knew. He turned round on the bed.

"Can I come in?"

Carol. Why had she come? Was Rick too angry with him, or bored already?

"Yeah."

Daryl tried to sit up. It was still difficult, when it shouldn't have been. He'd never had problems orienting himself in near darkness. But this wasn't quite the same, was it? It wasn't near darkness, it was the total absence of visual clues.

Carol didn't come to help him, but he could hear the legs of a stool scraping over the floor and felt her sit down close by.

"That must've been scary, earlier. Loud noises freak me out, always have. But now…" There was a pause. Daryl thought she was probably looking at him, his messed up face. He wished she wouldn't, but forced himself not to turn away. He felt her lean closer, and her voice was very quiet when she spoke again.

"Daryl, we are all so sorry for what's happened. Everyone is still in shock. I am not saying I know what this must be like for you, nobody can. And we're all struggling. Rick is devastated. He's trying his best, but he is out of his depth, as we're all. But we do want to help."

Daryl could hear her take a deep breath.

"Please, Daryl, let us help you. It'll be messy and we might get it wrong sometimes, but we have to try…"

"Why d'you wanna even bother?" Daryl couldn't keep the snarl out of his voice. "'m nothing but a liability now. Might's well jus' walk out that gate and let the walkers rip me to pieces. What good's ever gonna come out of this? I'll be less'n useless, I'll never contribute anythin' ever'gain…"

Daryl was breathing hard, his heartbeat was racing. Why did they all not understand this?

Carol didn't say anything. She just sat there, waited. Daryl remembered that that's how she'd been when he had vented his frustration on her after they'd found Sophia. She didn't fight back, just let it all wash over her. But he knew she wouldn't relent.

Finally, when she seemed sure he had run out of steam, Carol spoke. "You are family. It's as simple as that. And I refuse to believe that you'll be useless. Rick needs you, Daryl. Without you we'll lose him, too. You are keeping each other sane, and you can't give up on that now.

"Right now you can't see it, I accept that. But we do need you around, and so you must let us help."

She stood up. "Think about it, ok?"

Against his better judgement Daryl nodded. He didn't have to commit to anything yet, if all she asked was that he thought about it.

"Good. Can I tell Rick it's ok to come back in?"

This time Daryl didn't hesitate and nodded right away. He felt sorry about being short with Rick, and after what Carol had just said he wanted to show Rick that he understood that the other man was only doing his best. He couldn't bear the thought of Rick not wanting to be around him.


	4. Chapter 4

As far as Daryl could tell it was evening. He'd become better at estimating the time of day by the noises he could hear from the common area. Rick had not been back yet. Daryl guessed he was still angry, and he didn't blame him. Daryl was used to feeling useless and unwanted, though it was much harder to bear now that he couldn't even remove himself from the company of those who didn't want him. Also, he had to admit to himself that feeling unwanted by Rick was much more painful than feeling unwanted by his pa or Merle.

Daryl had started scraping his hand against the wall again when Carol had left. He didn't even know why he was doing it. There was no rage in him now, just numbness. He supposed that it was better to feel the pain than to feel nothing at all.

He was cradling his hand against his chest, concentrating on the throbbing sensation of the raw skin on his knuckles to keep all other thoughts at bay when he heard footsteps behind him. He didn't even try to hide what he'd done from Rick. What was the point? He'd see it anyway.

"I wish you wouldn't do that."

Rick's voice sounded so sad, Daryl felt ashamed of what he'd just done, and the thoughts going through his head. He didn't turn round. There was the sound of Rick toeing off his boots. Then Daryl felt the mattress descending a little behind him as Rick stretched out on the bunk.

A hand snuck around to Daryl's front, and Rick scooted close. Still holding on to his own wrist and keeping his body tense, Daryl wasn't sure whether he was ready to relent yet. But then Rick spoke.

"Don't be angry with me, man. I am sorry, I shouldn't have pushed you. I know I was doing it all wrong…"

All of Daryl's anger vanished. He turned around with difficulty in the small space next to the wall and buried his face in Rick's shirt. Rick smelled of baby formula, gun oil and soap, and the familiar smell was both comforting and a reminder of what they'd been like before. Daryl could feel tears threatening again. Rick pulled him close and held him fast, and Daryl could feel the other man's breath catch in his throat as he fought his own tears.

But Daryl didn't want to cry again. He wanted to show Rick that there was nothing to forgive, and that he still felt for him the same way as before. Daryl raised his head from Rick's chest, and brought his hand up to find Rick's face. Then he kissed the other man gently. It was clumsy at first, but once Rick started responding it felt just as good as all the other times before.

Rick pulled back after a few minutes. "Maybe this is too soon…"

Daryl's chest felt suddenly tight. He should have known that Rick would not want him now, damaged and useless. He tried to keep his voice level. "Ok, if you don't want…"

"That's not it, of course I want to, there's nothing I'd rather do…"

"Then what's the problem?"

There was a pause. Rick's voice was almost inaudible when he spoke again. "I don't want to hurt you, man. I love you so much, I could not bear to cause any more pain."

That stopped all Daryl's thoughts in their tracks. Neither had said that word to the other before. Love. And suddenly Daryl didn't want to talk, or think, or worry. He just wanted his man to take him and love him, and make them both feel good. Not a man of words, and certainly not the kind that could explain just how much this meant to him Daryl instead kissed Rick again, letting him feel that right now being with Rick would be the exact opposite of hurt. Showing his lover just how much he needed this now.

And Rick responded in kind. He started unbuttoning Daryl's shirt, letting his hands slide down his bare chest as soon as he could, pushing the fabric away and making for Daryl's fly. For Daryl the sensation was as intense as he ever remembered it being. Whether it was because he could no longer rely on his eyes, or because it had been too damn long since they'd been together he didn't know, but it seemed unimportant. All that counted now was skin on skin, feeling alive under his lover's hands.

Daryl closed his eyes. He knew it was silly, but somehow it helped him focus on what was going on rather than their whole fucked-up situation. He let his hands wander down Rick's chest, seeking out the waistband and finding the buttons. He undid them one by one, every so often brushing lightly against Rick's growing erection.

When all the buttons were open Daryl slid a hand inside his lover's pants and took him in his hand. Rick was already fully hard, and desire to feel the other man inside became the first thought in ages that actually managed to push everything else to the back of Daryl's mind.

"I need to feel you inside, now."

Rick's breath had sped up as Daryl stroked his cock and now he made short work of Daryl's own fly. Daryl felt his pants and boxer shorts pulled down and heard the fabric hit the floor. Then Rick pulled his own pants down and dropped them over the side as well.

Rick took Daryl's erection into his hand now, and Daryl moaned under the touch of the warm and familiar fingers. Rick started positioning himself on the mattress, pushing Daryl's legs apart. But then he stopped, and his hand stopped too on Daryl's cock.

"Are you sure this is what you want."

For an answer Daryl sought out Rick's other hand which was lying against his thigh and squeezed it.

"Yes, man. I am sure. Please…" Daryl didn't even care much about how needy he must be sounding to Rick, he was so desperate to feel something pleasant for a change.

Rick sighed, and it was both a sigh of longing and of sadness. Daryl could tell, because his own feelings were the same. But then Rick continued shifting himself into place. Daryl could feel him reach down under the bed and knew that he was getting the slick which they kept there. A small click indicated the opening of the bottle, and thirty seconds later he could feel Rick's hands on his buttocks, a finger pushing slowly against his entrance.

With the other hand Rick again encircled Daryl's erection, and as he started pushing in one finger he began a steady up and down motion on his cock. Daryl arched his back and pushed down, to feel Rick more, to get him to hurry up. Rick got the message and shifted again, now bracing himself with one hand on the mattress by Daryl's side, guiding his erection into place with the other.

Daryl could feel the tip of Rick's cock press against his opening and he started trembling with anticipation. Rick entered him slowly, and to Daryl this was the most intense sensation he could remember ever experiencing with his lover.

When Rick hit his prostate Daryl knew he would last only seconds. He took his own erection in one hand now and cradled his balls with the other. He needed to experience this as fully as he could manage.

"You close, Daryl?"

"Hmm…"

"Don't wait. I'm almost there too…"

Rick's voice was husky, full of arousal, and just hearing it, and realizing that he'd spoken so that Daryl would know what he could no longer see filled Daryl with desire and love all over again. He bucked his hips to maximize the sensation of Rick's cock inside him and then came with a low moan.

Riding the waves as long as he could he felt Rick's orgasm and pulled the other man on top, holding on, stroking Rick's back and savoring the contact of skin on skin.

He never felt the crash coming. One second he was still recovering from one of the best orgasms he'd ever experienced, the next moment waves of despair and rage broke over him. His right hand went up to his head, clawing and tearing at his hair, while he slammed his left fist into the wall again and again.

"Daryl, stop!"

Rick's startled voice sounded loud in Daryl's ears, as he grabbed hold of both Daryl's arms. He slid off Daryl, who tried to pull free and shrink back. Rick held fast, increasing his grip until it was acutely painful on Daryl's wrists. Daryl let out a howl of misery, arching back, trying desperately to get away. But then, just as quickly as the feeling had come, the fight went out of him. Suddenly the rage turned to an all-encompassing sadness and Daryl crumpled onto the mattress.

He felt Rick pull him into his chest and cover them both with the blanket. Daryl thought he could hear some commotion from the doorway, but didn't care. Nobody spoke and Daryl just buried his face against Rick's shoulder, sobbing.

Rick never let go of him all the while he was crying. He held him, soothed him with gentle strokes on his back, smoothed the hair from his face and rocked them both. He made small soothing noises, like those he sometimes made to Judith. But Daryl could tell that he was crying as well, and his hatred of himself intensified for causing his lover more pain. He didn't understand what had happened, why he had reacted the way he did. Finally, exhausted from the barrage of feelings coursing through him, he drifted off.


	5. Chapter 5

Carol was as good as her word. She didn't pester him for a few days after the night when Daryl had broken down again, but then one day she came to his cell.

"Have you thought about my offer?"

Daryl, who was lying on his bunk feeling bored and trapped, didn't answer right away. He had thought about it a lot and he knew Carol was right. He had to learn to be more independent again, but the thought of actually doing it scared him, so he'd not mentioned it of his own volition.

He sat up with a sigh. At least he was more or less able to do that again without help.

"I s'pose I don't really have a choice."

He could feel Carol step closer and heard her putting something on the table. Then she came over and sat down next to Daryl.

"Course you have a choice. You can choose to be helpless for the rest of your life, and nobody will blame you. We'll all help you and make sure you're safe. Only, I think that will be a pretty boring life.

"But if you let us help you deal with this better I am sure you'll not regret it."

Daryl started to turn his face away, but then forced himself to stop. She was right.

"What d'you suggest we do, then?"

At that Carol got up again. "I think we best start you off with learning to find our way around your cell. I know you think you still remember what it looks like, and that's good. But now you also need to know different things, like how many steps it takes to get from the door to the bed and so on.

"I also brought some boxes to make it easier for you to find your things. This place has become a right mess."

So they began. Soon Daryl started seeing the sense behind what Carol had said. He quickly developed a different understanding about the layout and the place of everything around him. Carol then helped him sort all his belongings into the boxes. She had affixed different shapes to their front - a piece of wood, a stone, a bottle cap - and they decided together on the categories for his things. The boxes they stowed under the bed and against the limited wall space in the most sensible order.

Daryl was full of awe for Carol. This had been the most useful help he had received so far. He felt exhausted, but was keen to do more. Carol however stopped him with a hand on his arm.

"This is enough for one day, Daryl. Let your brain process all the information. Also, it's getting late. I'll tell Rick that we're done and he can bring you some dinner. Rest a bit now, you look exhausted."

Daryl could feel her turn to go but he stretched out a hand, searching for her arm.

"Thanks, Carol. This was real good."

She patted his hand and he could tell that she was smiling when she spoke.

"That's quite all right. I thought you'd feel like that once we got going."

-.-

Carol came back the next day around lunchtime. So far it had always been Rick who had brought Daryl his food, and he'd learned to tolerate having Rick around to see what a mess he made while eating. Now Daryl realized Carol was bringing him his food; his sense of smell had always been good. He felt panic rising in his chest. Before he could protest or say anything, however, Carol spoke.

"I know, the last thing you want at the moment is have someone around when you're eating, but this is a good place for us to continue our lessons. You can stay in here a little longer, and once you have mastered this part I am sure you'll feel more confident again in joining us out there. What do you think?"

Daryl did not care for the idea at all, but he knew she was right again. He nodded.

"How d'you even know what to do about all this?"

Daryl could hear Carol put things down onto the table, but knew she'd turned around to answer him. "Maggie and Glenn brought back a book from a library a few towns over. I asked them to keep an eye out, and they finally found something useful yesterday. It's got a lot of techniques we can use. All right, come on, let's start."

Daryl got up by himself and took the two steps to the table. He'd memorized the lessons from the day before and felt quite safe moving around the cell now. He sat down but didn't touch anything on the table. He knew Carol had put the plate in front of him but she made no motion now to hand him the spoon or fork, like Rick had been doing.

"This is called the locating technique. I have put all the things you need in front of you, and now we'll see how you can safely find and use them without making a mess."

Carol talked him through finding the cutlery, plate, glass and napkin she had put down by moving slowly and not lifting his hands too high, telling him where he could find each object. She explained how to use the cutlery to locate the food on his plate, and explained many other useful things.

The process felt alien at first, and it was mentally exhausting to try and remember everything, but by the end of the meal Daryl hadn't spilled anything and he was once again grateful. Carol reached out and squeezed his arm when he finally finished the last forkful and put the cutlery down.

"Well done. Do you think you'll be ready to come out of here tomorrow?" Carol asked as she put all the items from the meal back onto a tray to carry them away. Daryl didn't hesitate this time, and nodded.

-.-

"We'll try this slowly, there's no need to rush. Just once round the common area for now."

Carol had come to him in the morning, and they were getting ready for Daryl to take his first proper trip outside his cell since the ill-fated attempt when the falling plate had sent him into a panic.

Rick had been guiding Daryl to the bathroom and showers ever since he'd been mobile enough to walk around, but since Daryl's was the last cell along and closest to the washroom facilities they'd never had to go near the common area or any part of the prison more than a couple of dozen steps away.

"Daryl, can I touch you so I can show you where to put your hand?"

The question startled him. When had anyone last asked him whether he wanted to be touched? Not that Rick would ever do something Daryl didn't want, but he had sometimes taken Daryl's hand or held him back when Daryl hadn't expected it, and it could be unnerving. He was touched that Carol was being so thoughtful.

"Sure you can," was all he said, however.

She took his left hand in her left, and placed it just above her right elbow. "Hold me there, firmly but not hard enough to give me bruises. Stay behind me a step, that way you'll be able to stop in time and not bump into things."

There had certainly been a lot of bumping into things with Rick, and Daryl had bruises all over his shins from it. He wondered if maybe he should suggest to Rick to read Carol's book.

"Tell me if I am walking too quickly. I'll tell you about any obstacles and where we're going. Let's do a circuit first, before we worry about counting steps or anything like that."

Daryl felt embarrassed for the first few minutes walking with Carol, and disoriented by the echo-y sounds outside his cell. He could tell the others were going about their normal business all around them. He could hear them talking to each other but nobody said anything to him, and he was grateful to be left to concentrate on Carol for now.

It was hard work, getting used to following around his "guide" as Carol had called it. She was giving Daryl some tips about how to ask for help with things as well, which he thought he'd like to try on Rick soon, if he had the nerve to actually bring them up. They were at it for an hour or so before Carol suggested a break.

"Are you ok to sit with us out here and have a cup of tea, or shall I take you back to your cell?"

Daryl took a deep breath. He felt like he was on the verge of a big decision here: Finally rejoin his group or stay forever apart, forever helpless and alone. "Cup of tea would be nice."

Carol guided him to a chair and told him where it was. "Remember, always remind your guide not to let you stand out in the open. They should always leave you with a landmark you recognize, or tell you where you are. I'll get the drinks."

Even though she had told him where she was going Daryl still felt suddenly very alone. He knew there were people all around him, but he didn't know where they were exactly, or who it was, either. Suddenly he felt a presence near, and he could tell by the rose-scented soap smell that it must be one of the women. Carol smelled of it right now, and he guessed that the girls all shared the same shampoo.

"Hey, Daryl."

It was Beth. He could feel her sit down close by, and then he heard another sound, a little gurgle-giggle he hadn't even realized he had missed terribly. "Hey Beth. Is that Judith with you?"

"Yes, it is." And then, after a pause. "Do you want to hold her?"

Daryl felt suddenly panicked. He'd loved almost nothing better than holding the baby and rocking her to sleep when she'd first come to them in such a violent way, feeling closer to the little bundle than most of the adults. But the thought of dropping her, or holding her wrong somehow was terrifying. But he did miss the feeling of the baby-soft body in his arms…

"I'll be right here, I'll make sure she behaves. Shall I put her on your lap?"

Daryl had a lump in his throat, but nodded. The next thing he felt was a soft bundle on his lap, and he carefully closed his arms around her. "She feels heavier now than I remember."

He could tell Beth was smiling. "She's growing amazingly fast. One day we'll wake up and she'll be walking."

Daryl brought his face closer to the little girl, inhaling her baby scent. It was familiar and soothing, but he could feel tears welling up. He'd never see that smiling little face again, and the thought brought some of the constant sadness and loneliness back to the forefront. He lowered his face to hide the tears running down his cheeks now. He had half a mind to ask Beth to take Judith back.

But then the little girl reached out her hand and gently touched his face. It was almost as if she could tell that he was sad, as if she meant to comfort him. She didn't fuss or cry, she just kept exploring his face and hair. Daryl gathered the little bundle closer to him, rocking them both gently as the tears kept coming silently.

Nobody said anything, but suddenly there was a strong hand on Daryl's shoulder, holding him. Rick's other hand came up to his neck and started to draw soothing circles on the skin there. Daryl lifted Judith slightly towards Beth, who took her with some gentle words to keep the baby quiet.

Rick's voice was low and close to Daryl's ear. "Do you want to take a break?"

Daryl nodded and got up. Rick placed Daryl's hand on his own arm just like Carol had done and Daryl realized that he was not the only one getting lessons. Together they walked back to Daryl's cell.

Once inside Rick turned to Daryl and took his face in both his hands. He held him for a moment, and Daryl guessed that he was looking him over. Then Rick pulled him close and wrapped his arms tightly around him. Daryl buried his face in Rick's shoulder with a sob, tears still running unchecked.

Although it had all ended in tears again Daryl did not feel the same despondency as usual. He had started to understand that this would be no easy journey, and that there would be much sadness and pain ahead. Maybe all of this would be for nothing and it would turn out to be too hard to live in this way in the world as crazy as this. But he also knew now that he at least had to try, and that there would be rays of sunshine mixed in with the gloom, too.


	6. Chapter 6

They continued with the lessons every day. Soon Daryl could find his way around their block in the prison practically without help. He regularly ate with the others again, and learned to accept assistance from everyone. That last bit was not easy, and he frequently struggled to ask for help when it wasn't offered.

Not everything went smoothly, of course. Daryl was covered in bruises constantly now, and he'd had the odd fall. One day he'd smacked his forehead hard enough on an overhanging shelf that Hershel actually had to stitch the wound.

Daryl still couldn't go outside. He longed to be out, and craved being in the forest again. He dreamed about going on runs almost every night. But it was the experience of a seeing person he missed, the being able to go off and be on his own. This was simply no longer possible, and the thought of going out as he was now, helpless and dependent on others, terrified him out of his wits. The fear was so great he still hadn't even been able to go into the courtyard.

Most evenings Daryl was exhausted. The work with Carol was demanding a lot of concentration and effort, and he was not used to this kind of structured learning. Some things were easier than others, like using his other senses to compensate. His hearing was honed due to his tracking experience where it was often as crucial as reading the actual tracks. It was harder to make actual use of it indoors, though, partly because of the weird acoustics in the prison.

He found being in the common area very tiring. In the past, when he was with the group, he'd always liked to keep an eye on everyone in the vicinity, both to reassure himself that they were safe and to know that nobody could sneak up on them. Now, especially with new people arriving frequently, he found some of his fears of the early days after the accident returning.

When it got too much Daryl would now sometimes seek solitude in the administrative part of the prison. Most rooms there were still not in use, and being able to actually close a door on it all was helpful.

He went there one day when he'd felt especially rattled with the noise around the common area. Glenn and Maggie had just come back from a run and everyone was excitedly poring over the new supplies. Trying to make sense of the chatter had given Daryl a headache and he'd gratefully shut the door of one of the offices tightly behind himself. He felt his way along the wall until he came to a desk he knew was along that side of the room and sat on the floor, leaning against the side of the desk.

He sometimes stayed in one of these rooms for hours, replaying the lessons with Carol in his head, practicing visualization. Sometimes he explored the rooms until he was able to build a mental picture of them. It kept him occupied and trained his mind to perceive the world differently.

This room had a window, he knew from previous explorations. Sometimes, when he was especially tired out, like now, he just sat and let the one visual experience left to him play out undisturbed. When in an area with a lot of natural light he could just about tell day from night, and sitting still to feel the light disappear had a calming effect, even if it sometimes made him sad.

There was a sound from the door now. Daryl automatically turned his left ear in that direction. He'd learned that his hearing was best on the left. He was pretty sure it was Rick. Nobody else had ever come to him here.

"Ok if I come in?"

Daryl nodded. A moment later the door closed and Rick's footsteps sounded muffled on the carpeted floor. They had spent less time together since Daryl had started his lessons, but they practically shared Daryl's cell now, sleeping in the same bed every night. Rick had been busy outside making vegetable patches most days, and Daryl wasn't sure whether he wasn't also avoiding him so they didn't have to talk.

Rick had been less tense around him once he had a better understanding of what Daryl needed from him, but their closeness and Rick's desire to make life easier for Daryl had actually turned out to be a bit of a hindrance. Still, Rick remained the only person Daryl wanted around when he felt the despair creep up again, which was still too often for comfort.

The other man sat down on the floor now, close enough for Daryl to feel his shirt brushing against his arm. After the exertions of the day and the unsettling racket in the common area Daryl was glad for the closeness. He liked being able to touch Rick now, to gage his mood better or just to reassure himself when things were too hard for him to deal with. Rick was his rock, the thing that kept him steady when the sea of fear threatened to pull him under.

This new aspect of their relationship still needed work, though. Daryl had not usually been the one to initiate physical contact when they first started… whatever this was between them. He'd been willing enough to initiate the sex once they got more comfortable with each other, but casual touch and gentle gestures just weren't in his nature. He still didn't touch Rick simply for reassurance as often as he would have liked, but Rick was getting good at picking up on the clues that told him Daryl needed him close. Like now.

Rick took Daryl's hand in his which had been lying in his lap. He traced carefully around the scrapes and bruises on Daryl's knuckles which were still not healing because Daryl kept using the walls as an outlet for some of his rage.

"You're going to break your hand soon if you're not careful."

Daryl knew Rick had a point. Only the night before, after dropping a glass in their cell and scattering shards everywhere he had actually slammed his hand into the wall in frustration until he heard something crack. A sore hand was of course not helpful in the process of learning the skills Carol was trying to teach him, and part of the frustration of the day had been that he kept bumping things with his sore knuckles.

Daryl shrugged. He felt more frustrated and despondent at the moment than he had since Carol and he had started the lessons. What was it all good for, after all? He'd never truly be independent again.

When Daryl didn't say anything Rick spoke again. "I wanted to ask you if you thought you might be ready for a little trip outside. Maybe tomorrow if the weather's ok…"

Daryl pulled his hand away. He felt annoyed. Why did they all have to constantly push him? All he had wanted coming back here was a bit of quiet time, and maybe some reassuring closeness. He didn't want to fall out with Rick, he just suddenly wanted to be alone. Daryl started to get up.

"'m not ready for this, man. Why d'you keep pushing?"

He navigated around Rick and with a hand against the wall made his way back towards the door. Daryl thought Rick was about to get off the floor and come after him, but then seemed to change his mind. Daryl was glad.

-.-

Daryl avoided everyone for the rest of the day and actually brought his dinner back to his cell for the first time in days. He'd made the excuse of a headache to Carol, but the truth was that he just needed to be alone.

It was late now. Daryl didn't know exactly how late, which normally didn't bother him as time seemed to have little meaning to his life now. But today it annoyed him that he couldn't even find this out without help. Carol had told everyone to be on the lookout for a battery-operated talking clock, or at least an analogue alarm clock where Daryl could touch the hands, but so far nobody had had any luck.

Daryl wanted to go to bed, but he wanted Rick to be with him. He felt bad about his earlier outburst. Rick was only trying to help, and Daryl didn't want him to feel bad for any mistakes he made. None of them knew how to handle this messed-up situation, after all.

He decided to go looking for Rick, to get him to bed. Maybe they could even have sex. They hadn't tried anything since the night Daryl had had the strange breakdown. They'd not talked about it, but he knew they'd both been unnerved by it.

Walking around the block unaided was hardly an issue now, as long as the others didn't leave things where they shouldn't be. There had been the odd bump into boxes but nothing major had happened for a few days. He used self-protective techniques to protect his body as Carol had taught him and felt confident enough to try different routes to try and improve his skills and his understanding of the place.

He first went over to the common area now. "Have you seen Rick?"

He could tell there were several people there but he didn't want to stick around long enough to find out who exactly.

It was Maggie who answered. "He's gone into one of the offices to check on the supplies. Want me to get him?"

"No, thanks, can manage."

Refusing help when he didn't need it was also a lesson Carol had tried to teach him, and Daryl found it hard so he tried to practice when he could. Around Rick that was the most challenging.

He now went back into the administrative block and when he had walked down the corridor that connected the two blocks he stopped to listen for any indication of where Rick might be. They had started setting up an armoury back here recently, and the men had spent a lot of time sorting through and expanding their weapon stores.

There were faint noises coming from the direction of that room now. Daryl wasn't too familiar with this part of the block but as the corridors were all identical he knew he'd be fine as long as he kept to the wall and remembered any turns he made. He set off towards the sound.

Suddenly his foot hit something leaning against the wall that clattered over noisily. Had he not been preoccupied with finding his way he wouldn't have startled at the noise. But now his foot got caught on the object, and he half stumbled, half slipped, crashing down hard. He was able to catch himself awkwardly with one outstretched arm and just sat for a moment, rattled.

Feeling for whatever it was that had caused him to fall his hands made contact with a familiar object. The stock of his crossbow was smooth under his fingers. He could feel every nick, every bump as his hand alighted to the weapon.

And the world seemed to end. All the hard work of days came unravelled, the focus on achieving independence was suddenly nothing but a cruel joke. His insides churned, panic and fear and despair crowding out all conscious thought.

Daryl was only half aware of his hands threading into his hair, starting to pull and tear. A groan slowly turned into a scream, then another as he rocked himself where he sat. He later couldn't remember that he'd started banging his fists into the wall. It took only seconds this time to actually break bones.

Then the strongest arms he knew were holding him, keeping him down, not letting go even though Daryl fought and pushed and snarled. His fist connected with a jaw as he briefly got one arm free but in response Rick only held on tighter.

Daryl lost all sense of time and space. Writhing on the floor for an eternity, yet no time at all. Slumped over, almost lying supine, yet held up by Rick. He felt himself go rigid, back arching, limbs shaking. A throbbing from his broken hand, agony from his head, pain, pain...

All while at the same time observing himself from a distance, almost seeing - almost but not quite, never, never again seeing - himself down on the hard concrete floor, Rick crouching, holding on, keeping him safe, riding it out with him. No sound from Rick. Or maybe he was screaming and Daryl had gone deaf on top of it all?

He didn't hear the running footsteps, the others talking, shouting. He'd passed out, or nearly, by the time they picked him up to carry him back to his cell. There was nothing inside the blackness of his mind but fear, and screaming.


	7. Chapter 7

When the others finally left Rick sat down on a small metal stool by the bed, shaking. He couldn't take his eyes off Daryl, who, heavily sedated, finally lay still. There were rivulets of semi-dried blood visible on his face, sneaking out from under the sweat-soaked strands of hair. The sole evidence right now of the breakdown that had torn their world apart with its violence.

Rick buried his face in his hands, feeling the tears pressing against the insides of his eyelids. His throat was tight with the powerful emotions he knew he had to keep in check so as not to disturb the fragile balance on this precipice. If he broke down too, all would be lost, he knew.

He had never seen someone lose his mind before, but this clearly must be what it looked like. Had this been him when Lori died? Rick knew he had been close, but at all times he had still been aware of where he was, and what he was doing. He'd stayed just this side of the threshold to insanity, he now saw that. He knew that Daryl had crossed that threshold tonight, and Rick was not at all sure that they could bring him back.

Once they had brought Daryl into his cell and finally gotten the needle with the sedative into his vein Rick had let go of him for the first time. Hershel had splinted and bound the broken, bleeding hand and checked out the tears and scratches Daryl had caused himself on his scalp, and pronounced them superficial.

Hershel had not been at all happy to inject Daryl with such a strong sedative, but they'd had no choice. While not thrashing about madly any more Daryl had still been rigid, screaming without pause. They had no way of supporting his breathing should it falter, and they didn't really know what was wrong with him. Hershel thought PTSD, and Rick was inclined to agree.

Rick looked back at Daryl now. His face was turned towards him, ashen and slack against the pillow, but it was again the face he knew. Back in the corridor he had hardly recognized his man. Daryl had looked feral, wild, utterly inhuman for a while. Had it been anyone else, Christ, had it been a Daryl who could still see, Rick would never have dared grab hold of him. Had all his senses been intact Rick was sure Daryl would have killed him.

Of course, the face in front of him was not really that of the man he had fallen in love with, either. The scars left over from the gas explosion had faded somewhat, but they were still very much in evidence. They hadn't disfigured Daryl in any meaningful sense and they would one day probably be invisible to the uninitiated eye, but to Rick they stood out like the wounds had on that first awful day. A constant reminder of what they had lost.

Right now Daryl's eyes were closed, or as near as they ever closed these days. He probably wasn't even aware that sometimes there remained a slit in which a shimmer of white was still discernible. Rick had been freaked out by it the first time he'd noticed, and neither Hershel nor Carol had been able to explain it. They thought it was either an effect of the scarring or of the fact that open or closed eyelids didn't matter much to Daryl's brain now.

Thinking about Daryl's eyes always brought such a sadness that Rick would have liked to avoid it if he could. But as the awful truth was ever present, he practically thought of little else. The fact was, when Rick looked at Daryl's eyes he could hardly believe that there was anything wrong with them, at least at first glance.

Of course, when looking closely everyone was able to see the milky-white film behind the lenses that betrayed the outward appearance of integrity. Daryl's eyes were still as brilliantly blue as they had ever been, but nobody could fail to notice the change eventually. Where once alert and watchful when looking out for his people, soft and loving when gazing at Judith, and full of desire and fire just for Rick there was now nothing but a void.

The glass shards that had penetrated Daryl's eyes had either gone all the way through the cornea and lodged themselves in the back, probably damaging retinas and visual nerves, or stabbed into the vitreous body sideways like into a pincushion, so that Hershel had been able to pull them out. He had predicted early on that the surface of both eyes would heal with time. And indeed it had.

What small consolation that was. Rick was conscious that Daryl had not once asked what he looked like now, but he was not surprised. Neither of them were the kind of men who cared very much one way or another. But Rick was sure that there was also an element of fear in the refusal to even mention his appearance. Fear, it always came back to fear.

And Rick had failed to help Daryl hold that fear at bay. Failed to support and protect the man he loved. Failed to have his back, failed to help make him strong again. The truth was that he had flailed helplessly from the moment that blast had knocked Daryl back. It had been hot enough to sear Rick's skin almost thirty yards behind his man. He'd kneeled by Daryl's side, too afraid to touch, too horrified to react. He sometimes felt he was still kneeling in that abandoned parking lot, rooted to the spot.

Carol had been the practical one. She had helped, encouraged and organized them all. The progress Daryl had made was all down to her. And now it was all utterly undone, shattered beyond repair. That madness Rick had seen on Daryl's face back in the corridor, that was not something a person could come back from in one piece. But Rick vowed that if there was anything at all that he could do to help Daryl, this time he would get off his knees and do whatever it took.


	8. Chapter 8

The next days were difficult. Which was an understatement but Rick quickly ran out of expletives. On the morning after his breakdown Daryl simply did not react to anything, even though Rick was sure he was awake. He just lay there, completely still. Rick tried everything he could think of to get him to talk, or move, or do anything at all. Nothing. Rick spoke to Daryl softly, asked questions, told him what was going on with the others. He brought him food and water. No reaction.

Lunchtime came and went and still Daryl hadn't stirred. Rick was at his wit's end. He felt exhausted. So far he had shied away from touching Daryl, afraid he might lash out again. But after so many hours without even a sip of water Rick was properly worried about the other man, so eventually he crouched down by the side of the bed.

"Daryl… I'm worried, man, please talk to me." Rick tried not to sound exasperated. "Please… you need to drink something, and eat."

Bracing himself for an attack Rick put a hand lightly on Daryl's arm. That did get a reaction. Rick tensed, ready to jump out of reach, but Daryl just turned to face the wall, back towards Rick. And that's how he stayed.

After another couple of hours pleading, stroking Daryl's back and hair and cursing silently for a while Rick had had enough. He got up off the floor where he'd been sitting for far too long and stepped out of the cell.

Carol came over the moment she saw Rick. "Any change?"

Rick shook his head. "Can you sit with him? I don't want him to be alone, but I have to get away for a bit."

Carol nodded and disappeared past the sheet into the cell.

Rick fetched his gloves and music player and went out to tend to his vegetables.

-.-

This was how they days went. Rick would spend time with Daryl in the morning, trying to get a reaction from him. Daryl would ignore him. He'd lie on his bunk, face averted, not moving. After a few hours Rick would feel either rage or sadness become so strong that he simply had to get out, and usually Carol took over.

It was Carol who'd at least gotten Daryl to drink water every now and then. After nearly two days of Daryl refusing everything Carol had lost her patience. Rick had been hovering close at the time, as he did a lot when he was indoors but not actually with Daryl. He couldn't help it.

"If you don't drink something right now I am getting Hershel in here to put you on IV fluids. And don't think I won't…"

That had done it, and now Daryl would take the bottle or glass from Carol whenever she touched it lightly against his shoulder or hand. He wouldn't take it from anyone else, though, not even Rick, and he still refused to eat.

It had been four days. Four very long days. Rick still slept in the same cell as Daryl, but on the top bunk. He just didn't think it a good idea to leave him alone for more than a couple of minutes. Daryl took himself to the bathroom, never asking for help. Rick usually followed, and Daryl let him but did not acknowledge that he was even there.

On the morning of the fifth day Rick had felt so claustrophobic he'd practically run out of the cell. When he caught Carol's eye he knew she'd understood the situation at one glance. She nodded and got up immediately. Rick didn't stop, just grabbed his stuff and headed out.

-.-

When he returned to the block a few hours later, tired out, sore and muddy from trying to shake off some of his frustration by throwing himself into farm work there was more activity around the common area than usual. Carl called over as soon as he saw Rick.

"Look what we found, dad!"

Rick went over, intrigued. Carl and Beth were kneeling on the floor, and everyone else was standing around watching them. Down on the ground with Carl and Beth Rick could see two brown-beige bundles of fur, snuffling and staggering between them on unsteady legs.

"Puppies, dad!"

Rick had to smile despite himself. He had not heard Carl sound so much like the boy he was in a long time.

"Maggie and I brought them back," Glenn said, and he looked apologetic when Rick glanced at him. "Their mum had made them a home in one of the houses we raided, but when she heard us she turned on us like mad and we had to shoot her. She'd gone completely feral, but the pups are all right, I think. We couldn't leave them to die… I know it's an insane idea to have them here, but…"

Glenn looked uncertain, but Rick smiled at him. He'd always had a dog while growing up, and despite the irrationality of it all he was already mentally planning how they could pull this off. His thoughts were interrupted by Carol stepping close, holding a glass of water.

"Look."

She pointed towards the end of the row of cells. A third pup, bigger and stronger than its siblings now cuddling up to Beth, had gotten away and decided to explore. It was padding along on its slightly too big feet, sniffing the stairs leading up to the second floor, then turning away from that obstacle and instead heading towards Daryl's cell.

"Shall I get it?" Carol looked at Rick.

But Rick shook his head. "No. Let's wait and see."

-.-

Daryl had been shutting out the others for days, and was getting used to it. Ignoring Rick had been hard at first, but now the wall came up as soon as Rick started to speak in the morning and he hardly even noticed it any more.

He had however noticed that this morning Rick had not stuck around long enough to say a single word. Good.

Daryl felt lightheaded with hunger, even lying down. The first day he hadn't felt anything, not even thirst, but by the time Carol had threatened him with the drip he'd been ready to give in. Being thirsty was way worse than being hungry, and the thought of being held down and having a needle inserted into his arm against his will had been enough to relent on that point. But that was it. He didn't want any more help, and he didn't want to get better.

His world, so dark now for many weeks, was now also dark inside his head. There were no real thoughts about the future, or even much about the past. Or about what had happened when he'd found the crossbow. He didn't remember that bit too well anyway, the memory was just more darkness, and a huge void full of rage.

No more blame or anger with anyone, no more hope or determination either. Now there was just rage, and fear. Fear so overpowering it kept him pinned in place for hours, unable to move, barely breathing. The rage was kept at bay by not moving, the fear just got worse, the longer he stayed immobile.

Sometimes he cried, but it was entirely silent. He thought Carol had noticed, but she had said nothing and made no move to help. That was good, too.

Daryl had been asleep, but something had just woken him. It wasn't footsteps or any sound he could identify. It sounded a bit like… snuffling. For a split second his heart seemed to stop when he was convinced a walker had gotten in. But he could hear the others laughing outside, and surely nothing like a walker could have slipped by them unnoticed.

There it was again. Daryl was listening more closely now. It seemed to be coming from the floor. Then there was a tiny yelp, and what sounded like little feet pattering on the concrete floor.

Before he knew quite that he was doing it Daryl had sat up. He brought his unsplinted hand down on the floor, then slid off the bed. He sat with crossed legs, leaning against the bunk and waited. It took only a minute or so before he felt the tiny feet he'd heard pattering try to climb into his lap. Daryl stretched out a hand and felt a warm, soft nose bump into his fingers, heard the tiniest bark.

It was a puppy. The next moment the little bundle of fur succeeded on climbing into his lap and put its little front paws against Daryl's chest, snuffling somewhere around his neck. Daryl closed his trembling, uninjured hand gently around the animal's body and brought him closer to his face. The puppy thanked him with a quick lick across his cheek.

Daryl felt the tears run down his face before he realized he had started to cry. Now there were footsteps, and a moment later the familiar form of Rick was next to him on the floor. Daryl had no strength to speak, but he put the puppy back into his lap and stretched his hand out until it alighted on Rick's chest. He held fast to the fabric of the other man's shirt. He couldn't suppress the sobs any longer.

And then he was in Rick's arms, crying, shaking. These were still the tears of utter devastation, but at least Daryl could feel something other than the blackness again. Neither of them spoke. Rick just held Daryl, and Daryl let himself be held. And for now, that was enough for them both.


	9. Chapter 9

The wind on his face was the best thing. Or maybe feeling the sun warming him as thoroughly as nothing else could. Or maybe it was the smell of earth and pine needles and resin. He couldn't make up his mind.

He was sitting on a fallen log in a forest clearing, drinking it all in. Rick was close by, he knew, and he needed to know that or he couldn't have been sitting here so calmly. Michonne was somewhere not far off too, keeping a lookout, making his first trip outside as safe as it could possibly be.

It had taken Daryl several days to gain back enough strength to continue with Carol's lessons. Not eating for so long had thoroughly sapped him of all energy, and the depression had not just disappeared over night, either. Things were not suddenly perfect, but he was making progress now.

For one thing, he had not taken out his rage on his own hands since the day the dog arrived. When he now felt the blackness creeping up in his chest, making every movement, every conscious thought impossible, the little bundle of energy seemed to know and was there to pull him back out again. He'd jump on Daryl's lap, or try and climb up his legs, and it worked every time. He'd unfreeze, snap out of it and bury his face in the warm fur.

They had christened the puppies Spot and Dot. The third one hadn't made it, and while Dot had bonded thoroughly with Beth and Carl Spot would follow Daryl everywhere. They had left him at the prison today, though, sleeping tangled up with his brother. The puppies were still too small to safely go out with them.

Carol was optimistic that they'd be able to train them both for useful tasks that would help Daryl. Hershel was sure they'd grow to quite an impressive size, which would be a bonus. Daryl wasn't too fussed. Just the emotional support from Spot was enough for now, and had already changed his life beyond recognition.

There was movement now, still far off to the side. Daryl cocked his head for a moment. Definitely walker noises.

"Rick," he motioned in the direction of the sounds.

After a moment, "Yeah, I see it. Just one."

"I know."

Daryl was amazed how much he was able to tell from the sounds these things made. He'd known his hearing was good, but he hadn't realized just how much more acute it had become, now that vision no longer came to its aid. It made him feel infinitely more safe.

There was a scuffle, a commotion off to the side, then some groaning from the creature and a thump. A moment later the log shifted under Daryl as Rick sat down next to him.

"Good catch."

"Hmm…"

Daryl leaned into Rick's side. He'd finally been able to start allowing himself to seek his lover's comfort for no other reason than needing the affection. It still wasn't easy, but Rick always responded in kind so Daryl knew it was the right thing to do.

Like now. Rick leaned into him in return, then placed his arm around Daryl, pulling him close. Daryl let himself relax into Rick's chest, adding the feeling of the muscular torso against him to the list of things that were perfect about this day.

"'s a good day to be out," Daryl surprised himself saying a minute later. He could feel Rick nodding.

"I'm glad we finally managed it."

And then there was a gentle hand on Daryl's face, tilting it sideways, facing Rick. A soft kiss quickly turned into a passionate one, and next moment Daryl found himself lying on the ground, Rick on top. Despite the situation turning hot so quickly he was touched that Rick had managed to throw his jacket down to cover the pine needles before lowering Daryl to the ground.

They kissed and stroked and explored each other's bodies like they'd not had the opportunity in months, like they'd forgotten the topography of the other entirely. Daryl was aching for Rick, for losing himself in his lover's passion, for the feeling of completeness he knew their lovemaking would bring.

But he finally pulled away from the kiss, very aware of their almost painful erections touching through too many layers of clothing.

"Not out here," he panted. "'m not ready for that. Also, Michonne…"

He heard a little chuckle. "She'd not disturb us. Might just tell us off for being too noisy… But I understand. Let's get back then? I want you so bad."

"Same here…"

Rick's weight vanished off Daryl, and he almost changed his mind. Why not disregard caution and just live, for a change? But he knew himself that that would push his endurance to a limit he wasn't quite ready for. So he held out a hand and Rick pulled him upright.

As they walked back towards the prison, Daryl's hand on Rick's arm for guidance, picking Michonne up on the way, Daryl couldn't help contemplate how lucky he had turned out to be, after all. In this life, which asked so much of all of them, and for which he seemed to have paid the ultimate price, he had still ended up with the best family he could wish for, and the best one of all the possible men by his side.


End file.
